


Sly Quill

by Alisanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/pseuds/Alisanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An anonymous person has been writing embarrassingly revealing articles. Harry goes on a quest to discover who the mystery reporter is, and in the end, discovers important things about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sly Quill

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to all the other Showcase participants who offered suggestions on this story, to the fabulous members of my writing groups, and to my beta readers, Sevfan and Eeyore9990, who caught my many errors and without whom this story would have been much less readable. Also, a heartfelt thank you to Raitala, who provided the wonderful illustration of Narcissa.
> 
> I wrote to raise awareness of [The National Bone Marrow Registry](http://community.livejournal.com/hp10k_showcase/3633.html) (although this is not the subject of the story).

~*~

**Sly Quill**  
By Alisanne

~*~

_The well-bred potential wife of a scion of one of the wizarding world’s most prominent families was recently caught engaging a prostitute. Perhaps all is not well with the pending family merger._

_Could that old adage be true? It may well be that the grass is always greener on the other side, no matter how pure your blood may be._

~*~

“Unacceptable!” Narcissa was hissing as Draco walked into the drawing room. “It is a minimum requirement that a woman hoping to join the Malfoy family should be at the very least discreet, even if she can’t seem to handle a bit of fidelity!”

Helping himself to tea and one of the scones on the sideboard, Draco relaxed on a settee and waited for his mother’s Floo conversation to be concluded. It didn’t take long. 

“Well, we consider this to be a breach of contract. Good day!” A cloud of ash stirred in the fireplace as she slammed the Floo connection closed, and, as Draco watched, Narcissa exhaled and cast a Dusting Spell on herself before standing. She turned, seeming startled to see him. “Oh! Draco, you’re early.” She flushed. “Did you hear that?”

Draco smiled. “Hullo, Mother.” With a glance towards the fireplace, he said, “I heard some of it. So, is there something I should know?” 

Narcissa sighed as she glided towards her favourite chair. “I am sorry you had to overhear that, darling,” she said. “But I cannot in all conscience allow that girl to ruin our family’s reputation.” 

“That article in _The Quibbler_?” Draco guessed.

Narcissa nodded. “You saw it, then?” She sighed, glancing at the paper. “They do not make pureblood girls the way they used to.”

Draco laughed. “The funny thing? I thought _her_ family were the ones who insisted on a monogamy clause as they negotiated the contract!”

Narcissa snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand. At Draco’s startled look, she giggled. “It is rather ironic,” she admitted. 

“So, what happens now?” Draco asked. 

“Now we begin the search again.” 

Draco groaned. “Mother, really, how about I look for my own spouse this time? The last three people we’ve negotiated contracts with have been less than ideal.” 

Narcissa sighed and took another sip of the tea she’d fixed herself. “At this point I am beginning to think that might be for the best. Honestly, how _does_ this ‘Sly Quill’ person obtain such information? First, there was that scandal with Pansy that I was sure we’d covered up until they wrote about it in the paper, then there was the business with Tracey Davis, and now this.” 

“Do you know who writes the column?” Draco asked, helping himself to a second biscuit. 

“‘Sly Quill’. Clearly a pseudonym and obviously someone with a lot of inside knowledge of the inner workings of aristocratic families.” Narcissa frowned. “I’ve tried to discover who it is but with no success. I even called on the Lovegood girl since she edits the paper, but she’s refused to talk to me. I think this person is determined to ruin us!” 

“Or save us,” Draco muttered.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, he or she saved us from Astoria, right?” Draco shrugged. “I know it’s cost us a lot in solicitors’ fees to negotiate all these marriage contracts, but it’s better we know these things sooner rather than later, don’t you think?” 

Narcissa stared at him for a long moment before looking away. “That’s a very philosophical outlook, dear. I was worried that working in the Ministry wouldn’t be healthy for you, but it seems to be agreeing with you.” 

Draco shrugged. “I’m surrounded by Gryffindors, but other than that it’s tolerable.” 

“Well, the diplomatic corps is an acceptable career for a Malfoy,” Narcissa said. “And it allows you to meet eligible, albeit foreign, witches.”

Making a face, Draco took a sip of tea and declined to reply to that. Fortunately, Narcissa didn’t notice. “So, what new deals are you negotiating today?” she asked, settling back in her chair. “It’s been a week since we talked. Tell me all!” 

Relaxing, Draco began regaling her with stories, and they both put the topic of marriage on the shelf.

~*~

_The saviour of the wizarding world appears to be unlucky in love. His almost-fiancée, Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies, is apparently pregnant. Sources are unsure if the child is the saviour’s. On a positive note, however, her fecundity certainly cannot be questioned._

~*~

Ushering Harry into the office, Ron quietly cast Locking and Silencing Charms as Harry continued seething. Walking over to his desk, he sat down and opened a drawer, pulling out a bottle of Ogden’s finest and two glasses.

“How the _fuck_ did this happen?” Harry sighed. 

Ron raised one eyebrow. “Do you really want me to go over the facts of life?” 

“Ron--” Harry growled.

Ron held up a hand. “Sorry, but I think you know _how_ it happened.” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be funny. How long have you known?” he snapped. 

“I found out from the paper this morning, just like you.” 

Harry stared at Ron for a long moment before nodding. “And Hermione?” 

Ron shrugged. “No idea. If she knew about this before, she didn’t say anything to me about it. Something tells me she was just as gobsmacked, though.” 

“Where is she? I thought she’d be Flooing or owling by now.” 

“I bet she’s with Ginny.” Ron sighed. “Sit down. You need to calm down so we can leave the Ministry without attracting attention.” 

Harry snorted. “What are the chances of that? Did you see how they were all staring and whispering?” 

“Harry--”

Harry sat abruptly. “Fine.” He smoothed out _The Quibbler_ and looked at it unseeingly for a moment. “How did they find out?” he asked, tossing the newspaper aside after another glance at the cover. “I thought we had an arrangement, Ginny and I. We pretend to be involved, and we inform each other when things change. I’d call pregnancy a change!” 

Ron shook his head and slid a shot of Firewhisky across the desk. “No idea, mate.”

Harry downed the drink, then held up his glass for a refill.

Ron filled it and both men took sips of their drinks before speaking again.

“Harry, I swear I had no idea she would do this,” Ron stated. Harry nodded brusquely and looked away. 

“How long?” he finally whispered, peering into his drink before draining the glass. 

“How long what?” Ron asked, pouring more without being asked.

Harry sighed. “How long until the press starts following me around to see who I’m dating now and when I’m going to get married and settle down?” He slapped his palm on the table, making Ron flinch. “And now I’ll have to start hiding again. I probably won’t be able to go out in public for a while.” 

“To those gay clubs, you mean?” Ron smiled at Harry’s startled look. “You thought I didn’t know?” 

“I wasn’t sure,” Harry admitted. “I’m glad you do, though, makes things easier. You’re not...angry?”

“Are you kidding?” Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione would have my head. She’s the one who sussed it out.”

Harry shook his head. “Figures.”

“It’s a shame Ginny’s pregnancy got out like this.” Ron sighed, pouring them both another drink. “Just know I’ll always consider you a brother, no matter what,” he said. “Now drink up.” 

Harry splashed a bit of liquor onto his hand, but managed to get most of it to his mouth. “No, I can’t get too drunk yet,” he said. “I need to be able to walk when we go to question Luna.” 

“Luna?” 

Harry nodded. “She edits _The Quibbler_. She has to know who writes that column.” 

“You think she’ll tell you?”

“I hope so,” Harry growled. “Whoever Sly Quill is, they shouldn’t be allowed to ruin people’s lives like this.” 

“She’s been doing it for a while, mate.” 

“She?”

“Sly Quill. I assume it’s a she.” Ron shrugged. “She writes like a she. Anyway, did you see what she wrote about Malfoy and Greengrass a couple of days ago?”

“Malfoy?” Harry’s head snapped up and he focussed on Ron.

“I suppose you didn’t,” Ron chuckled. “Right, well, it was a few days ago. Apparently Astoria Greengrass, Malfoy’s fiancée, was caught soliciting prostitutes. Created a huge scandal once Sly Quill broke the news in her usual way, with hints and innuendo.” 

“So what did Malfoy do? Are they still getting married?” 

“No clue.” Ron tilted the bottle, considering, then poured the last of the Firewhisky into their glasses. “He’s not exactly someone I talk to on a routine basis, you know?”

Pushing away the thought that he wouldn’t mind doing more than talk to Malfoy on a routine basis, Harry muttered, “He works here. Diplomatic corps. I wonder if he knows who Sly Quill is?”

“You want to ask him?”

Harry knocked back the last of his Firewhisky. “Not really,” he admitted. “Maybe we should start with Luna first.”

Ron sighed. “That should be an interesting conversation.” 

Harry chuckled softly. “No shit. Conversations with her always are.” 

They somehow made it to the Floo without stumbling, and although no few people were watching Harry, no one said anything. 

_The Quibbler_ offices had a slight air of neglect, as if no one had cleaned the place in months, although there was no visible dirt to be seen. There was a receptionist, and she was pleasant, if vague. When they asked for Luna, she waved them in the general direction, then went back to solitary Exploding Snap.

“Do we even want to know about the radishes?” Ron muttered, tilting his chin towards the vegetables dangling above their heads as they walked down the hall. 

Harry grinned. “Nargles, probably.”

“Of course,” Ron said dryly under his breath. “How could I have forgotten?”

Luna’s office was obvious, the painted ‘editor-in-chief’ sign on the door was unnecessary given the fact that she was standing in front of it, staring up at the ceiling.

“Luna?” Harry said. “May we speak with you?”

“Of course, Harry.” Luna never looked away from whatever she appeared to be studying. “The Puffapods are building a nest, isn’t it wonderful?”

Both Harry and Ron looked up at where she was staring. Ron squinted. “Er...”

“Luna,” Harry said firmly. “We really need to talk to you. Can we go into your office?” 

Luna sighed and, tearing her eyes away from the empty corner of the ceiling, nodded. “Sure, Harry.” She smiled and tilted her head. “Maybe if we leave the door open they’ll build another nest in my office, too.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Ron muttered, following them in. 

The room was bright, a large picture window looking out onto a back alley providing plenty of sunlight. Piles of cushions, parchments, books and maps were spread out over the floor. On a wall beside Luna’s desk was a large world map with red drawing pins scattered across it.

Gesturing towards two chairs, Luna walked around behind her messy desk and sat down. “What can I do for you, Harry?” 

From behind her large desk, she almost looked the part of a newspaper editor. Harry straightened up in his chair. “We saw the article that Sly Quill wrote this week.”

She smiled. “Aren’t those clever? We get a lot of mail about those columns.” 

“I bet,” Ron said under his breath. 

“We’re trying to find out who writes them,” Harry said, his voice even. “And what their sources are.”

“Oh, I don’t know how they get their information.”

“Do you know who writes it?”

Luna shrugged. “I’ve no idea. They arrive by postal owl every other day, the parchment spelled so that only I can open it. I never know what I’ll find.”

Harry nodded. “Then how do you know the source is reliable?” he asked. 

“I assume they are, no one ever sues.” Luna chewed her bottom lip, “Although Mr. Parkinson said something about suing a few months ago, and Mrs. Malfoy Flooed once to ask me about them, nothing came of that. I always cast a Truth Spell on them, and they always seem fine.” 

Harry sighed and leaned forward. “I thought you and Ginny were friends,” he said. 

“Oh we are, Harry.” Luna regarded Harry for a long moment, unblinking. “But I’m friends with you, too. It wasn’t fair that you had to hide behind your fake relationship with her.”

“How do you know that?” Harry asked, eyes narrowed. “Maybe I knew and we were just being discreet, trying to keep it quiet.” 

“If you’d known you wouldn’t be here. Plus, you’re not like that,” Luna said, leaning forward. “And neither is Ginny. It’s better this way. Maybe Dean will propose now.”

“What?”

“Or did he already?” Luna waved a hand. “I think he means to, anyway.” 

Harry shook his head. “I need another drink,” he muttered. 

“Focus, mate,” Ron said, laying a hand on Harry’s arm. “Information now, drink later.”

“Yeah, okay.” Harry turned back towards Luna, who was busy scribbling something onto paper. “So you don’t know who ‘Sly Quill’ is?” he repeated, trying to catch her eye.

Luna giggled. “I really don’t. I can Occlude, Harry, but I’ll let you look if you must.”

“No,” Harry sighed. “I believe you.” 

“Oh!” Luna exclaimed. 

Harry and Ron both jumped. “What?” Ron asked, wand in hand.

“The Puffapods _are_ setting up a nest in here!” She pointed.

Ron rolled his eyes, tucked his wand back in his robes, and began tugging on Harry’s arm, inclining his head towards the door. “C’mon, let’s go. There’s a decent pub around the corner. This is a dead end.”

Harry allowed himself to be manoeuvred out, and on their way past the vacuous receptionist, Ron almost bowled someone over.

“Watch it, you twat!” a familiar, drawling voice said. 

“Malfoy?”

The distinctive white-gold hair was concealed beneath a hood, but as close as Harry was, the face was instantly recognizable. 

“Potter. Weasley. And my day is now complete.” 

“Ferret,” Ron said. “What are you doing here?”

Malfoy sneered. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m here to see Lovegood.” 

“About what?” 

Malfoy stared at Ron for a long moment. “Are you asking in your capacity as an Auror, Weasley?” he finally asked.

Ron narrowed his eyes. “If you want to take it that way, _Malfoy_ , then, yes.” 

“Ron, stop.” Harry laid a hand on Ron’s arm. “No, Malfoy. It’s just a bit of a weird coincidence that we all arrived to talk to Luna at the same time.” He tilted his head. “At least, I think it is.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “As a matter of fact, Potter, it’s not a coincidence at all,” he said. “After yesterday’s edition I imagine many people are interested in just who Lovegood’s source is.”

“Source?” Harry said, feigning ignorance. 

“Contrary to Gryffindors, Potter, Slytherins read. I’ve been keeping up on the news.” 

“Pity your girlfriend couldn’t keep her clothes on,” Ron said. 

Malfoy smiled nastily. “Really, Weasel? You want to go there given the latest column? At least I don’t have an unmarried and pregnant sister in my family--” 

Ron flushed bright red and Harry stepped in front of him. “You started it,” he muttered, scowling at Malfoy. “Let it go.”

Exhaling a sharp breath, Ron finally nodded. “Right, let’s be on our way, Harry.” 

“Yes, do move on. From the smell, I think you should just continue drinking whatever swill it is you’ve been imbibing,” Malfoy sneered. “The standards for Aurors have certainly declined.”

Eyes narrowed, Harry stared at him. “You plan to talk to Luna?” he asked.

“As I just said.” Malfoy moved as if to go around them, but Harry held up a hand. 

“We’re her friends. If she won’t tell us who Sly Quill is, what make you think she’ll tell you?”

“I trust you’ll forgive me if I ask her myself anyway,” Malfoy said dryly. “I’m not about to get into the habit of taking _your_ word for things.”

“Suit yourself,” Ron said. “We have places to go. Come on, Harry.” 

Once outside, Harry rounded on Ron. “What did you do that for? I want to know what he’s up to. What if he knows who Sly Quill is? I want to hear what he says to Luna, and what Luna says to him.” 

Ron grinned. “Which is why I brought these.” Reaching into his robes, he pulled out two Extendible Ears.

“Brilliant,” Harry exclaimed. 

Ron winked. “Never leave home without them. Now, let’s go around to the back. We should be able to listen in through Luna’s window.” 

The alley behind Luna’s office was dirty, stinking of rotting garbage and urine. “Phew!” Ron muttered. “You owe me for this, mate.”

“I really do,” Harry admitted, breathing as shallowly as possible. 

Perched on a discarded crate, they crouched together, listening at the earpiece as the Ear snaked its way up the wall and onto the windowsill. 

“...interesting visitors,” Malfoy was saying. “I understand that they already asked you about Sly Quill.”

“They did.” Luna sounded distracted. “Is that why you’re here?”

“My mother asked me to talk to you.” 

“His _mother_?” Ron chuckled softly. 

Harry shushed him so they could continue listening.

“...thought you would be angrier about this, Draco.”

“Why should I be angry? Sly Quill saved me from what would probably have been a disastrous marriage to a whore. I should send them chocolate.” 

Harry frowned. “He knows something,” he whispered.

Ron nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Well, I really don’t know who Sly Quill is,” Luna was saying. “Although I don’t think I should tell you even if I did.”

“That’s fine.” The scrape of a chair indicated that Malfoy was getting ready to leave. “Since, as I mentioned, I’m doing this at someone else’s behest, I am not unduly upset nor surprised at your answer. Good day, Lovegood.”

Retrieving the Extendable Ears, Ron shoved them back into his robes. 

“Malfoy almost seemed reasonable,” Harry muttered. 

“Even more evidence that he’s up to something,” Ron said. “Should we put him under surveillance?” Just then, his wand vibrated and his eyes widened. “Shit. I have to go; I forgot I’ve a meeting with Kingsley this afternoon, although I bet he’d understand if I told him--”

“What? That you had to take off to help me get drunk?” Harry shook his head ruefully. “No, mate, you go ahead.” Slapping Ron on the shoulder, Harry steered him out of the alley. “Kinsgley’s not likely to have much sympathy for you missing a scheduled meeting.” 

“I suppose.” Ron frowned. “What are you going to do?”

Harry inclined his head towards the door of _The Quibbler_ building just as Malfoy emerged. “I think I’m going to have a chat, see if I can work out what he’s hiding.”

Ron sighed. “Yeah, all right, just be careful, okay? And let me know if you need backup.”

Harry snorted. “It’s Malfoy, Ron! Don’t worry, I can handle him.” 

After shooting one last suspicious look Malfoy’s way, Ron finally nodded and, stepping back, Apparated away with a soft pop. The noise alerted Malfoy, however, who glanced over towards Harry before rolling his eyes. 

“I take it that if I don’t talk to you, you’ll stalk me?” he drawled as Harry approached. 

Harry grinned. “It’s a good bet, yes.” 

“Lovely.” Malfoy studied his nails. “Look, Potter, I appreciate that you really want to locate this Sly Quill person, but--”

“Who really asked you to talk to Luna?” Harry interrupted. 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “I should have known you’d be eavesdropping,” he bit out. “The concept of privacy is apparently not one you understand.” 

Harry shrugged, unapologetic. “If I relied on other people to tell me things, I’d never have survived seven years at Hogwarts.” 

Malfoy’s eyes flew back to Harry’s and his lips twitched. “I suppose you do have a point -- a weak one, but it is a point.” 

Harry ignored that. “Look, I get that you don’t care about Sly Quill--”

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Malfoy interrupted. “I just know when to cut my losses, something you could well learn.” 

“Will you at least listen to my idea? I think there may be a way to discover Sly Quill’s identity. Interested?” 

Malfoy paused, pursing his lips. “Very well. There’s a pub there.” He pointed across the street. “Buy me a drink, a _proper_ drink, mind, none of that swill you and Weasley were probably drinking before, and we can discuss it.”

Harry silently gestured ahead of him, and as Malfoy swanned across the street, Harry wondered how he was going to stop himself from murdering him. 

It took several tries until the bartender could produce a whisky that Malfoy deemed palatable. They only had a half a bottle of it left, so Malfoy insisted Harry buy the whole thing, saying simply, “We’ll need it,” when Harry baulked.

Once the server placed the whisky on their table and left, Malfoy cast a Silencing Charm.

“Paranoid much?” Harry chuckled. 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “You, the man who just finished eavesdropping on the private conversation I was having with Lovegood, can ask that?” As Harry flushed, Malfoy continued. “I wouldn’t put it past someone to be so intrigued by the sight of us talking that they would listen in. Anyone here could be Sly Quill.” 

Harry looked around at the patrons of the pub. “Somehow I doubt that. Ron thinks it’s a woman.” 

Malfoy took a sip of whisky. “And what, pray tell, did Weasley base this brilliant deduction on? Let me guess, he thinks it _sounds_ like a woman?” 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Malfoy stared at Harry for a long moment. “And what do you think, Potter?” he finally asked. “Do you agree?” 

“Not sure, actually.” Harry twirled his glass, admiring the way the light scattered in the amber depth of his liquor. “I could go either way.” 

“Really?” Malfoy drew the word out, making it sound dirty somehow. “I had no idea you were so...flexible, Potter. It’s a good thing I put up that Silencing Spell. Imagine what someone could do with that tidbit.” 

“What?” Harry’s brow furrowed, then his eyes widened as Malfoy’s meaning became clear. “Not that, you pervert! I’m not...whatever you’re implying, not that it’s any of your business.” Flustered, he looked away. “I meant as concerns the question of Sly Quill’s gender.” 

Malfoy was still smirking. “Whatever. You know what they say about people who protest too much.” 

Harry, trying hard not to blush, took another sip of his drink. “I’m not protesting too much,” he finally said. “I’m protesting just the right amount.” Ignoring Malfoy’s snort, he continued, “I don’t think we can make any assumptions about who Sly Quill is. It could be anyone.”

“So what do you want to do?” Malfoy asked. “Ask everyone if they’re Sly Quill? I don’t think even the great Harry Potter has enough clout, or enough time, to question the entire wizarding world.”

“No, git! I want to watch Luna and see if I can figure out which owl is from Sly Quill, then track it.” 

Malfoy, appearing poised to say something, closed his mouth for a long moment. “You know, that could work.” He eyed Harry speculatively. “Not a bad idea.” 

“Yeah, I have them occasionally,” Harry said dryly. Swallowing the last of his whisky, he said, “Maybe we should go now and see where the owls arrive.”

Malfoy held up the half-full bottle of whisky. “And leave this? I don’t think so. The owls will be there tomorrow.” Pouring another shot for both of them, he smirked. “Drink up, Potter, unless you’re...scared.” 

Harry sighed. That really shouldn’t have worked, and yet... “Just shut up and finish your own drink, Malfoy,” he said. “We’ll see who should be scared.”

Later, Harry would look back at that moment as the beginning of the end.

~*~

_Potter actually can hold his liquor,_ Draco thought as they worked their way through the second half of the bottle of whisky. _But fortunately, not as well as I can._

“Y’know,” Potter slurred, poking the table for emphasis. “Maybe we’re approaching this the wrong way.” 

“Oh?” Draco said, trying not to laugh aloud as Potter carefully set his glass on the edge of the table and seemed confused as to why it tumbled onto the floor. Fortunately, the Anti-Shatter Charm on it held, and Draco Summoned it smoothly, placing it in the centre of the table. “What’s wrong with this approach?” 

“I bet they hide where the owls come in,” Potter said, leaning forward. “I think we need to get into the building after hours and investigate, see if we can find anything in Luna’s office.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You are advocating larceny? Merlin, Potter, you’re an interesting drunk.” He chuckled as Potter flipped him two fingers. “If I’d seen this side of you in school, we might have been friends.” 

Potter froze, then smiled crookedly. “Wouldn’t that have been interesting?” he said. “My life would have been very different.”

_Different is one word for it,_ Draco thought. “As would mine.” Signalling the server, Draco cancelled the Silencing Spell and asked for the cheque. 

“Are you going to finish that bottle?” the server asked.

Eyeing Potter for a moment, Draco nodded. “Yes, I believe we will.” 

By the time they left the pub, it was dark, well past seven in the evening, and Draco realised time had passed unexpectedly quickly in Potter’s company. Potter stumbled, and without thinking, Draco steadied him with a hand to the elbow. Potter flashed him a smile of thanks, and Draco wondered whether Potter would remember any of this in the morning. 

The night air seemed to sober him up a little, though, and by the time they were in front of _The Quibbler_ building, Potter was standing independently and had his wand out to test the wards. 

“Simple wards,” he muttered, sweeping his wand across the locked door. “I can dismantle them easily.” 

“Oh?” Draco said. “How’s that?” 

Potter didn’t look at him, but Draco saw the flash of his white teeth as he smiled. “Nice try. Auror’s secret, I’m afraid.”

“I’m a Ministry employee, too, you know.” 

“Yeah, in the diplomatic corps.” 

Potter made it sound worthless. Draco narrowed his eyes. “Fine,” he bit out. “I’ll just leave you here to break into _The Quibbler_ on your own, then, shall I?”

“God, you’re a sensitive git. It wasn’t an insult, Malfoy, just an observation.” Potter grumbled something else under his breath and stepped back as the door swung open. “Well? Coming?”

“Arse. Someone does have to make sure you don’t destroy the place, though,” Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. 

Luna’s office door was open. “To let the Puffapods in,” Potter said, dissolving into giggles. Draco’s lips twitched, then he, too, was laughing. They leaned against each other for a few minutes, trying to catch their breath. 

“I guess we should get on with it,” Draco finally said after they’d laughed themselves out. “ _Lumos!_ ” 

Blinking in the sudden light, both men stood at the door and surveyed the mess. “Well, fuck,” Potter sighed. 

Draco chuckled, agreeing. “This is mad.” 

“Probably,” Potter muttered. “Still, it’s all I can think of to do at the moment. You start with the desk, and I’ll look through the files.” He gestured towards a wall covered with cabinets. 

Draco cast a doubtful look at the desk. Potter was already opening and closing file drawers, so Draco picked his way across the floor and began to poke around the papers on top of the desk. Finding nothing of interest there, he bent over and began rummaging through piles of scrolls beside the desk. 

“Malfoy maybe we can-- Oh...” 

Glancing behind him, Draco caught Potter staring at his arse, blushing furiously. A slow smile bloomed across Draco’s face. “See something interesting?” 

Potter licked his lips. “Um, what?” 

“I’m up here,” Draco said dryly, almost laughing as Potter’s eyes flew up to meet his. “And FYI, this is what form-fitting robes can do for you, Potter.” 

“I wasn’t looking at you that way!” 

Now Draco did laugh. “Of course you were.” Straightening up, he turned and leaned against the desk. “You were about to ask me a question before you were overcome by my incredible body.” 

“You are such a git!” 

Draco smirked. “Mm, so you say. Remember what I said about protesting too much?” _God this is fun._ When Potter’s fists clenched, Draco crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

Potter took a deep breath. “I was thinking that this may be easier if we Summon all papers that have to do with Sly Quill.” 

Draco considered this. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. You are full of surprises tonight.” Standing up, he walked towards Potter. “Go ahead, cast.” 

“ _Accio papers to do with Sly Quill_!” Potter cried. 

Papers flew at them from all directions, making them duck. After several seconds the deluge slowed, however, and they were left with a stack of parchments. Potter was smiling and Draco grinned back automatically.

“It worked!” 

“Apparently so.” Draco took some from the top of the stack. “I suppose we’d best look through these here. I can’t imagine that even Luna wouldn’t miss it if this much of her paper work was missing in the morning.” 

“Or we could make a copy of it,” Potter murmured. 

“How, exactly?” 

“A Copying Spell Hermione taught me.” Potter inclined his head. “She got the idea from a Muggle machine.” 

Draco held his tongue.

Holding the stack tightly, Harry said, “ _Xeroxus!_ ” and the stack of papers doubled in size. A quick search found where the original papers ended and the copies started, and Potter handed Draco the copies and then began randomly distributing the other papers across the room in the general vicinity of where they’d started. 

“You want _me_ to go through all these?” Draco asked, looking at the still intimidating stack. 

“We can split them,” Potter said. “Look through them on our own and then meet back and compare notes.” 

Draco pondered this. “Very well.” Handing Potter a stack, he held onto it firmly until Potter looked up at him. “One thing. We review our results in a private place. I don’t want the press knowing we’re doing this.” 

“Okay.” Potter’s fingers brushed Draco’s as he accepted his share of the papers and they both jumped. 

With Potter staring at him, Draco leaned close. “Maybe next time we can see if that flexibility that I know is in there somewhere extends to your supposed heterosexuality,” he purred. “Make sure you lock up.” 

Stepping back, he Apparated away. Always leave them panting for more had been one of his father’s favourite mottos. Draco definitely believed in taking good advice.

~*~

_Is it true that Celestina Warbeck can be linked romantically to Minister Shacklebolt? Apparently so. In addition, a source tells me that the minister lives up to his name with the bedroom games he plays. All those years as an Auror have evidently made him appreciate the lure of bondage._

~*~

Even with his eyes closed, Harry knew it was going to be painful to get up. The herd of Erumpents stampeding through his head attested to that. He groaned, groping for his glasses and finding them. Fumbling, he finally manoeuvred them onto his face, and, taking a bracing breath, opened his eyes. “Oh fuck!”

Even after he managed to limp to his bathroom and gnaw open the vial of Hangover Potion there, he felt like shit. A shower went a long way to making him feel better, and as he stood under the spray, he began to recall the previous day and evening. 

Thank God for Ron, who’d retrieved him after Malfoy had abandoned him. Harry couldn’t even remember contacting him, but apparently he had. He’d tried to explain his reasoning for being in Luna’s office but Ron had stopped him mid-sentence and said, “Whatever, mate. I’m taking you home.” 

Malfoy had been flirting, Harry realised in hindsight. _How did he know?_ He’d only just come out to Ron, after all. 

Harry rested his forehead against the tile and sighed. Why did Malfoy have to be so bloody attractive? He’d been right, Harry had been checking him out during their raid on Luna’s office, and while the cut of his robes was good, it was the body beneath that made him so irresistible. _And the snark. It does get my blood pumping._

He was half hard, and, after resisting the temptation to wank to the thought of Malfoy, Harry decided he could substitute some nameless, faceless bloke in his fantasy. How hard could that be?

Wrapping slick, soapy fingers around his erection, Harry stroked, eyes closed, water sluicing down his face as he pumped into his fist. He imagined a dark dance club, writhing bodies all around him. Arms came around him, pulling him backwards. Harry went willingly, smiling as his back hit a firm chest. 

Harry’s hand sped up as he thought of what it would be like to have his fantasy lover grind against him, maybe palm his cock with teasing touches. 

He would know when Harry was desperate, would know to drag him to a back hallway where he would spin Harry around, shove him against the wall, and stick his hand into Harry’s pants. 

Harry would be almost mindless by then, panting, aching for release. Draco would say, “Come now,” and Harry would, all over those clever fingers that wouldn’t stop stroking him even while he spurted...

With a grunt, Harry came, his prick spasming in his own hand, shuddering through his orgasm. Blinking the water out of his eyes, Harry groaned when he realised just who he’d had the imaginary hand job from. “I am so fucked.” _Or not, as the case may be,_ an inner voice reminded him.

“Malfoy, you bastard,” he muttered as he finished washing up. How had the git managed to get under his skin so thoroughly? This time he ignored the inner voice that reminded him that Malfoy had _always_ had that ability. 

“I bet you’re glad it’s Friday,” Ron greeted him upon arrival at the Ministry. 

“You have no idea.” Harry eyed the pile of reports on his desk and groaned. “Are these all due today?” 

Ron nodded. “Yep.” He pointed at his own desk. “Apparently the other departments didn’t take a day off just because we did.” 

“Overachieving snots,” Harry mumbled. 

“Too true.” Ron hesitated, then asked, “So, are you okay?”

Harry shrugged. “Other than the awful hangover I woke up with? Yeah I’m fine. I can’t believe Malfoy--” He bit his lip.

“Malfoy what?”

“Left me there. Drunk! What if I’d Splinched myself?” 

“You wouldn’t have Splinched yourself. You knew better than to try to Apparate.” 

“Still.” Harry frowned at the first parchment and, picking up a red quill, began writing furiously. “Fucking bastard.” 

Ron chuckled. “I suggest you take it out on him, then, mate.” Nodding at the parchment Harry was marking up, he continued, “Although maybe I’ll give you all the reports from Percy’s department.” 

By the evening, Harry was furious, and when his final report was accounted for, he stood up, told Ron he would see him later, and stomped down to Malfoy’s office, which was in the diplomatic wing of the Ministry.

Bursting into the room, Harry growled, “I don’t know what you think you’re up to, Malfoy, but--” He stuttered to a stop. 

Narcissa Malfoy rose elegantly to her feet. “It appears you’re busy, Draco.” Spearing Harry with a cool gaze, she inclined her head. “Mr. Potter.”

Once she had swept out, Malfoy leaned back in his chair and regarded Harry thoughtfully. “You seem very eager to see me, Potter. Discovered something earth-shattering in your half of our project?” 

“You bastard,” Harry snarled, leaning over Malfoy’s desk. 

Interestingly, and somewhat distractingly, Malfoy flushed. “What are you on about?” he blustered. “Do you think you know something about me, Potter? If you do, just come out with it.”

“I know you’re a scheming, conniving son-of-a--” Harry blinked when he found a wand in his face. 

“You were about to say something about my mother?” 

Harry exhaled carefully. “I was not talking about your mother. I was talking about _you_! Now put that away!”

After a pause, Malfoy did. “You’ll find I am sensitive about certain topics, Potter,” he murmured. Harry narrowed his eyes. Why did Malfoy suddenly seem so nervous? “So, what has your knickers in a twist?”

“You left me drunk in Luna’s office. What if I’d tried to Apparate and had Splinched myself?”

“That’s why you’re upset?” Malfoy shook his head. “Potter, you moron, who do you think contacted Weasley to go and get your sorry arse?” 

Harry blinked. “You contacted Ron? How?” 

“I texted him.” Malfoy smirked, holding up a mobile. 

Harry frowned. “Oi! That’s mine!” Grabbing it, he began pressing buttons. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Potter. I didn’t sabotage it. I took it so I wouldn’t have to deal with questions from Weasley. I knew he’d accept a message from your mobile without a problem.” 

“Oh.” Harry felt foolish.

“Was that all?” Malfoy asked, standing and beginning to gather his things. “If so, I have a special project waiting at home. I doubt you had a chance to look through anything last night.” 

Harry shook his head. “No, I was a bit out of it when I got home.” He sighed. “Look, sorry about before. Can I make it up to you?”

Malfoy regarded Harry for a long moment. “What did you have in mind?” 

“I could get take-away, and we can look though the papers together?” 

Malfoy hesitated for a brief second, then nodded. “Yes, all right. But give me an hour to tidy up. My place isn’t ready for visitors at the moment. And I don’t like Indian.”

Harry smiled. “Chinese all right?”

“It’ll do. I’ll provide the wine.” 

“Deal.” Harry backed out of the office. “See you in an hour.” 

“Potter?” 

Harry paused. “Yes?”

“Do you know my Floo coordinates?” 

Harry blushed. “No, sorry.” 

Malfoy tore off a bit of parchment and scrawled something on it. “There. I’ll leave it open for you.” 

Harry blushed brighter when he thought of what else he hoped would be open to him that night, then, stammering something, he took off. He had a lot to arrange. 

At two minutes to seven he threw powder into the Floo and three seconds later he stepped into a beautifully decorated drawing room. Warm wood panelling and comfortable-looking leather furniture combined to make the place exude relaxation. 

“Welcome to my home, Potter.” Malfoy was there, taking bags of fragrant Chinese food from Harry. A low table with several square plates and some chopsticks were waiting. Eyeing the plush cushions that were next to the table, Harry smiled.

“This place is amazing,” he said. 

Malfoy inclined his head. “Thank you. I like to think I have a knack for decorating.” 

“Apparently,” Harry said, admiring the place. 

“Shall we eat first? Then we can get to the business at hand.” 

Dinner consisted of a mixture of savoury noodles, chicken and prawn dishes in sauces of various spice level. It turned out that Malfoy preferred spicy food, too, so he and Harry found themselves duelling for many of the same dishes. Luckily, Harry had bought far too much food, so no one went hungry.

When they were done, Malfoy Banished the remnants of the meal and turned to Harry. “We can stay here or we can move into my home office,” he said. 

“This is pretty comfortable.” Harry swirled his glass of elf wine. “Let’s stay here.” He placed the wineglass onto the table and reached into his robes for his share of the pilfered papers. 

The next two hours consisted of them reading and discarding the majority of the papers as useless. “Wasn’t there a way you could be more discriminating in what you Summoned?” Malfoy whinged. “This is the hundredth article in which the words ‘sly’ and ‘quill’ are mentioned in the same sentence.”

“Yeah, this wasn’t as useful as I thought it would be,” Harry admitted as he slogged through an article dealing with Slytherins and their use of quills. “I say we call it a night.” 

Malfoy yawned. “Sadly, I think you’re right, Potter. Time to call it a night. I do have some lovely port, however, if you’d like a nightcap.” 

Harry nodded, and while Malfoy was off getting the wine, he wandered out of the living room and into what looked like an office. Assorted papers were scattered across the desk, but it was definitely neater than Luna’s or even his own. A wizarding photo of Narcissa Malfoy was on the desk. When she saw Harry, she sneered at him and walked out of the picture. 

“Never mind her,” Malfoy said from behind him. “She always does that, no matter who she sees.” 

Harry laughed. “Somehow I doubt she’d do that if I were an eligible young witch.” 

Malfoy inclined his head. “Before I incriminate myself, let me distract you with alcohol.” 

Harry laughed, accepting the glass of garnet-coloured liquor. He took a sip, his eyes widening. “Delicious.” 

“Naturally, I selected it.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “So may I ask you a question, Malfoy?” 

“You may ask, I may not answer.”

“Fair enough.” Harry bit his lip, trying to decide how best to broach the topic. “You seem awfully relaxed about this Sly Quill person.”

Malfoy leaned against his desk, eyeing Harry over the rim of his wineglass. “That’s not a question.” 

“True enough.” Harry cleared his throat. “Is the reason you don’t seem upset about what Sly Quill has done to you because you don’t actually want to get married?” 

Malfoy froze, then smiled. “Bravo, Potter. Yes, I would say that’s quite true. Sly Quill has saved me a lot of aggravation.” 

“So...is the reason you don’t want to get married because you’re gay?” 

Tilting the rest of his port back, Malfoy drained the glass before straightening up. “Apparently I was less than subtle last night,” he said. 

Harry grinned and walked closer. “Well, I am a Gryffindor. Subtlety doesn’t really work with us.” 

Malfoy took Harry’s glass from him, his fingers lingering on the back of Harry’s hand as he did so. “I’d never have guessed that,” he purred, placing his mouth directly over the spot Harry had just had his.

A shaft of heat speared through Harry as Malfoy’s tongue licked the rim of his glass as if tasting him. “Fuck subtlety,” he growled, crowding Malfoy against the desk. “I’m tired of being teased.” 

Malfoy chuckled, his breath hot against Harry’s neck. “Who was teasing? I fully intend to follow through, Potter. Do you?” 

Harry moaned. He could feel Malfoy was hard and he was already reaching for Harry’s flies, and before Harry knew it, Malfoy’s hand was wrapped around him, measuring him. “God!” 

“Definitely not teasing,” Malfoy whispered and then speech were superfluous. After wordlessly Banishing their clothes, Malfoy spun Harry around, pressing him into the hard edge of the desk. Papers were flying everywhere, and out of the corner of Harry’s eye he saw Narcissa’s photo teeter and fall face down onto a pile of parchment.

Somehow Malfoy had managed to clasp both their pricks in his hand and was stroking _almost_ fast enough to get Harry off. 

“Malfoy!” Harry whined in the back of his throat, trying to arch into Malfoy’s hand. “Faster, damn you.” 

“You’ve done this before,” Malfoy murmured. “Good.” 

“Yes!” Harry cried, frustrated. “What was I supposed to do, take out an advert in the _Prophet_? Get on with it?”

“Oh, I will. Only I don’t want you to come too soon, Potter,” Malfoy whispered. “I want to see you unravel slowly.” 

“You--” Harry gasped as Malfoy cast a Lubrication Charm on them, making their cocks slippery as they slid together. “Fuck.”

“Mmm,” Malfoy said. “Soon.” 

“God, now,” Harry cried, arching his back. 

“Well, if you insist,” Malfoy purred. 

The room spun and Harry found himself being pressed face first into the desk, his legs spread as Malfoy’s spell-slicked finger probed him. Harry rocked back, shifting his hips in an attempt to draw Malfoy’s fingers deeper as odd bits of paper stuck to his damp skin. 

Malfoy twisted his finger, grazing Harry’s prostate and making Harry grab a fistful of papers. “Found it, did I?” Malfoy whispered.

“Hurry up or I’m coming without you,” Harry panted, swallowing hard. 

“Don’t you dare,” Malfoy snapped, moving his finger deeper. “You come when I say.” 

Harry bit his lip and tried to hold on as Malfoy inserted a second finger to stretch him more. “Will you just...oh!”

Malfoy thrust his cock inside Harry firmly, and the burn of entry was just enough to allow Harry to pull back from his orgasm. “All right?” Malfoy asked, moving slowly. 

Harry nodded jerkily. “Fine, just...give me a second, yeah?” 

Malfoy didn’t stop moving, but he did advance in small increments, inexorably making a place for himself in Harry. Soon, Harry’s muscles had relaxed enough that Malfoy was moving in and out smoothly, his forehead resting at the top of Harry’s back, his moist breath gusting against Harry’s skin as he slid back and forth. 

He seemed to be shifting, searching...

“Fuck!” Harry gasped as Malfoy hit his prostate. 

“There it is.” Malfoy sounded smug and as he pounded away, Harry’s muscles seized and he clenched his eyes as his orgasm overtook him. His trapped penis spurted rhythmically against the desk, and moments later he dissolved into a satiated lump as Malfoy continued moving in search of his own pleasure. 

Clasping Harry’s hips, Malfoy thrust deep and grunted, shuddering as he emptied himself into Harry. 

Just when Harry began to feel the hard wood of the desk biting into his skin, Malfoy shifted off him, allowing him to move. “All right?” he asked. 

Harry chuckled. “God, I think I’m getting too old for desk sex.” 

Malfoy sniggered. “I hadn’t planned on desk sex tonight. I had hopes for the bed, however.” 

“We may get there yet,” Harry said, wincing as he straightened his back for the first time in several minutes. “I was hoping we could try that in the shower first, though.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Well, well, you’re certainly the surprise.” He smiled. “Let me make sure it’s fit for company and then I’ll wash your back for you, Potter. Then, we need to talk.”

Harry blinked at the genuine smile gracing Malfoy’s face. “Okay,” he said, and as Malfoy walked away, he allowed himself to ogle his arse. 

Once Malfoy had left the room, Harry looked around ruefully. The place looked like a storm had come through, and he began collecting some of the papers they’d spilled onto the floor. He set Narcissa’s photo upright, not surprised to find she was still absent from the frame. 

Papers were still stuck to him, to his stomach and cock, actually, and Harry blushed as he tried to peel some of them off. He tried to smooth one out with his hand, doing a double take when he saw what was on it. 

It was a deposit slip, indicating that payment to ‘Sly Quill’ had been deposited into one Draco Malfoy’s account at Gringotts. 

A cold feeling spreading through Harry. _He set me up!_ Then, his mind exploded. 

Papers, books, glasses, lamps -- they all flew around the room as Harry’s temper combined with his magic to wreak havoc. He could hear Malfoy calling to him and he crumpled the paper in his hand and reaching up, plucked a letter opener out of the maelstrom swirling around him. 

With a snarl, he placed the parchment against the fine leather of Draco’s desk chair and pinned it in place with the letter opener. 

“Potter?” Malfoy, still naked, was standing at the door, looking at his ruined room. “What happened?” 

“You fucking bastard,” Harry snarled, and as Malfoy’s eyes widened, Harry Apparated away.

~*~

_The word is that St Mungo’s is testing a male pregnancy potion. Sources close to this journalist suggest that may account for a certain sword-wielding hero’s expanding middle, which is apparently not related to a return to his youthful chubbiness. Time will certainly tell, but this may also explain the proud smile frequently displayed by a certain Gringotts’ Curse-Breaker. Apparently that family’s fecundity doesn’t only just affect women._

~*~

“Harry! I know you’re in there!”

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. He’d spent the entire weekend in bed, getting up only to urinate and get another bottle of Firewhisky. In his head he played the events of Friday night over and over, and each time he felt more and more angry and more and more foolish.

“I’m coming in!” Ron said. Harry could feel him fiddling with his wards. 

“Fuck.” With a shudder, Harry heaved himself out of bed and padded slowly to the door. “What?” he asked, leaning against it. 

“Harry, it’s Monday. You’re late for work, mate. You’re never late for work, so I came to check on you. What the fuck is going on? Let me in.”

“I’m taking the day off,” Harry grunted. 

“What the--” Harry had just enough time to step back before the door opened under Ron’s forceful Unlocking Spell. Ron eyed him up and down. “Are you hurt?” 

“I’m fine.” 

Ron laughed dryly. “You are _not_ fine.” Closing the door behind him, he shoved Harry in the direction of the bathroom. “You smell like a pub on Sunday morning. Go and shower, then we’ll talk.” 

Harry briefly contemplated telling Ron to fuck off. Knowing that wasn’t likely to work, however, Harry shot an irate look at him before stumbling into the bathroom. 

Being clean did make him feel better, and by the time he emerged, Ron had tea and buttered toast waiting. “How domestic,” he muttered as he sat. 

“Mum trained me well,” Ron said, crossing his arms and staring at Harry for a long moment. 

“What?” Harry mumbled. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ron shook his head. “Are you still obsessed with this Sly Quill bint?” 

“Sly Quill’s not a bint.”

Ron narrowed his eyes. “And you know this how?” 

“I found out who it is.”

“And finding out made you lock yourself up in your flat and try to drink yourself into a stupor? Who the hell is it, mate? And when is Malfoy hunting him down?” 

Harry’s eyes snapped up. “When is--what?” 

Ron slid a copy of _The Quibbler_ across the table at him. “I assume you and Malfoy tracked him down and he knows who it is, too, because he did a number on Malfoy in the latest issue. Shame Malfoy had to get outed like that.” 

Stunned, Harry looked at the newspaper where the Sly Quill latest column was featured on the front page. 

_Apparently, the heir of one of the fairest and most prestigious fortunes in the wizarding world is gay, giving new meaning to the phrase ‘playing for the other team’. Interestingly, he’s always been a bit Quidditch mad._

_Perhaps this is why he’s had such difficulty in obtaining a wife, despite being prepared to pay dearly for one. His late father is probably ranting in his portrait._

“This is referring to Malfoy?” Harry asked, his thoughts swirling.

“Yeah, isn’t it obvious?” Ron helped himself to some toast. “A _fair_ wizarding heir? Who else could it be?”

Harry sat back, blinking. 

“Maybe we need to arrange protection for this Sly Quill bloke,” Ron was saying. “Although, really, I always knew Malfoy was a poncy git.” 

Harry looked at him.

“What? Oh...” Ron flushed. “Well _you’re_ not a git.” 

Harry shook his head. “Thanks, mate, I think.”

Ron smiled. “Don’t thank me yet. Since you weren’t at work earlier, the assignments went out and you got reception duty.” 

“Oh shit.” Harry’s head hit the table. “What is it this week?” 

“The Scandinavian Minister and his entourage are having a diplomatic reception at their headquarters, and since our Minister is going...” 

“I get to provide protection,” Harry finished, voice muffled. 

“Yep. You and Cooper.” Ron sighed. “And I know you hate those things, but since you’re Harry Potter, the Minister has indicated he’d like for you make some remarks at the thing.” 

“Oh fuck.” Then, Harry’s head snapped up. “Wait, if this is a diplomatic event does that mean Malfoy’ll be there?” 

Ron pursed his lips. “Probably,” he said. “Why?” 

“Because,” Harry said, a plan slowly forming in his mind, “I have some things to discuss with him.”

“Uh huh.” Ron finished the last of Harry’s toast and stood up. “Well, let’s go. You need to get briefed on the assignment, and you need to write your speech.” 

“Yes,” Harry said, slipping the newspaper into his robes. “I do.”

~*~

_It seems that a Kneazle has performed world’s first animal-controlled magic. Your humble reporter would beg to differ, however. No one can tell me that the late, unlamented Dark Lord was anything more than an animal._

~*~

When Draco arrived at work Monday, he kept his head down and deliberately avoided everyone's gaze. His mother had already burst into his flat that morning, threatening to sue Luna Lovegood within an inch of her life, only desisting when Draco had quietly told her that they had no basis to sue since all the facts in the article were correct.

Narcissa Malfoy had stared at him for a long moment before Apparating out of his flat in silence. He was dreading hearing from her later, but not as much as he was dreading seeing Potter. 

When he’d heard that Potter hadn’t shown up to work that morning, a part of Draco had been relieved and a part had been worried. Potter’s exit from his flat had been quite dramatic; surely he hadn’t done anything foolish? 

Draco had expected drama from his co-workers, but, other than the odd speculative look, no one did anything unusual. Once a few hours passed and Potter didn’t show up to trash his office, Draco relaxed. 

Over lunch, Colin Creevey came to his table and flirted with him as people looked on smiling. No one made any snide comments. Apparently people were used to Sly Quill’s articles. 

At four, Draco got his briefing on the Scandinavian reception, and after packing up his files, he Flooed home to change. After putting on silver-trimmed black dress robes, Draco stood at the door of his home office and looked around. He’d cleaned up most of the mess from Potter’s tantrum, but, in a fit of introspection, he’d decided to leave the parchment with the receipt for his payment for the last Sly Quill article attached by letter opener to the chair. _Maybe I have a masochistic streak?_ Draco snorted. And maybe Potter would forgive him one day.

The Scandinavian embassy was beautifully decorated, and as Draco waited for the arrival of the Minister for Magic, he sipped a glass of champagne. He avoided talking to anyone for longer than five minutes and counted the time until he could go home. He had several days off coming up in which he could do some thinking. _And placating,_ he thought, imagining the scene he’d face the next time he saw his mother. 

Minister Shacklebolt arrived precisely at seven, and Draco retrieved the files, ready to provide information. As expected, the Minister had an Auror guard, but Draco couldn’t see their faces. He approached the podium to be available for information, but was careful to stay in the background.

First, the Scandinavian Minister spoke, and as he droned on, Draco daydreamed about Potter, what it had felt like to be inside him, how he’d hoped to experience bottoming to him--

Next, Minister Shacklebolt made brief remarks, for which Draco was grateful, and then the schedule went awry. “And now for some remarks by Harry Potter,” the announcer said, and Draco’s head snapped up. 

Potter, staring straight at him, was standing at the podium. He held Draco’s eyes for a moment before casting _Sonorus_ and beginning. 

“Thank you for asking me to comment tonight,” he said. “I always find it strange that people want to hear me speak since I didn’t do anything that special. Yes, I defeated Voldemort, but I certainly didn’t do that alone; I did it with the assistance of many people. Many courageous people.” 

Draco narrowed his eyes. 

“There are many types of courage. The courage to be true to oneself is one of the hardest kinds to have, and I’m afraid I fail at that type of courage.” Potter squared his shoulders and looked around the room once before returning to Draco. 

“But not anymore. So, I am now prepared to state for the record that I’m not attracted to women, I’m attracted to men. If that makes the news then so be it.”

Shaking his head, Draco watched as Potter nattered on about courage and ruined his life, and when he finally stopped talking and cancelled his _Sonorus_ , amidst the buzzing of the gathered crowd, Draco walked up behind him and hissed, “You fucking idiot, what are you doing?! The world needs its heroes bright and shiny, but never shiny enough to be considered poncy.”

To Draco’s surprise, Potter smiled at him. “If you’ll excuse me, Ministers?” As they nodded, he turned away, ushering Draco towards the back of the stage where there were curtains. When they got there, he said, “You know what? You're right. I'm doing this all wrong.  Actions have always suited me better.” With that, Potter dragged Draco into his arms and kissed him.

They separated and stared at each other. “Would you consider retiring Sly Quill?” Potter asked. 

Draco smiled. “Not on your life.”

“Thought not,” Potter chuckled, clasping Draco’s hand. 

Draco sighed. “My mother will probably find out eventually, though. And when she does, you’ll be reading about Draco Malfoy being disinherited.”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “Will she be that upset?”

A slow smile spread over Draco’s face. “Maybe not if I bring home a decent male prospect.” He eyed Potter speculatively. “So, how are you at placating irate mothers?”

~*~

_Two of the most eligible wizards of all time have apparently ended up_ together. _And, it may be that we shall yet see the continuation of both family names. After all, with magic, anything is possible, and, as revealed in this column several months ago, St. Mungo’s_ is _still testing their male pregnancy potion._

~*~ 

Fin

~*~


End file.
